


Loose Ends, 1979

by Calhoun



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:42:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calhoun/pseuds/Calhoun
Summary: Hopper says a hard goodbye to the most important person in his life.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Loose Ends, 1979

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Tumblr: https://bluebracelet.tumblr.com/post/189573117960/loose-ends-1979

It’s a late autumn afternoon. One of those days where it seems that every last bit of color’s left the world, drained right out of it.

Certainly fits his mood well enough, Jim reckons.

If he’d come sooner, this final farewell would have been brighter. Deep down, though, something about that felt wrong. _His_ sun has set, and it’s unlikely to rise again. The rest of his life, it feels like, is gonna be spent in that bleak space between the end of night and beginning of dawn, when they say it’s the darkest. But there’s something almost comforting there. In the dark. A man can _hide_ in the shadows. Keep away from things he doesn’t want to see.

And that’s alright.

It’s cowardly, but it’s alright.

Of late, damn near all of his choices have felt like those of a coward (or, perhaps more charitably, a man lost at sea clutching for whatever solid thing he can grab hold of). Giving in and embracing that cowardice, well, it surely won’t hurt Hopper any. There’s not a lot left of him to hurt, after all, and this little goodbye… it might just go ahead and finish the job. Kill off that last little bit of himself that still wants to watch the sun break over the horizon. The part that still expects rescue.

The cemetery’s in a quieter part of Brooklyn, mostly residential. For that, he’s thankful — there’s less eyes to catch him hesitating.

Hop’s arms are held stiffly, straight down against his sides — at their ends, fists clench tight, short nails digging in deep, drawing thin crescents of blood from his palms. Electric shudders, the result of fear and restrained exertion, thrum through his back, his shoulders, his neck. Though it’s an overcast day, it’s not as cold as it could be, and yet his teeth are chattering all the same. He’s working himself up to step forward. Lingering here on the sidewalk like a kid who’s been double-dog dared to run through the graveyard on Halloween night, and can’t quite find the nerve. Dead leaves and trash skitter along the pavement in the soft sigh of a breeze: the sound is haunted, the place is haunted. The _man_ is haunted.

Hopper squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in deep, squares his shoulders. Then, he begins walking. If he doesn’t move now, he never will. And even though he’s said goodbye to her so many times already, he doesn’t want to skip this one. In a few days, he’ll be a thousand miles away. Back home — if he could call Hawkins home. If he could call _anywhere_ home, now — with little to show for the life he’d built in New York with his family, besides memories. Memories that’re still wounds, open, raw, and bleeding, aching furrows that haven’t scarred over.

Despite his initial hesitation, Jim’s pace is brisk once he finds his feet, and he winds his way to her resting place quickly, with ease. He goes to his knees like a man settling in to pray. But he doesn’t expect to find atonement, forgiveness, or peace. Not here. Not yet. Not ever.

He lifts his hands, ignoring the line that circles the bottom of his left ring finger, paler than the skin around it: an afterimage of the wedding band he’d recently, _reluctantly_ taken off. The marriage it symbolized was, itself, already interred, lamented, eulogized. Yet Jim couldn’t bear the thought of throwing out the ring, of pawning it. It was packed away, hidden in with a jumble of odds and ends.

The tips of his fingers trace her name, four little letters embossed into the dark marble. That’s all he can bring himself to do for the moment.

After a while, his focus changes. The bigger picture slides back in. Seeing his own last name carved above Sara’s… it’s a lot like an unspoken accusation, isn’t it? He should have _known better._ Maybe she wouldn’t be _here_ if he hadn’t… what, passed on the curse? Sounded nuts. Sounded **REAL** nuts.

_Felt_ right, though.

The world shrinks again. He continues to trace her name. Jim’s mouth opens a few times, like he wants to speak. The words don’t come. Only hitching breaths, attempts to strangle off sobs before they can escape.

(A man doesn’t cry in public. Even when he’s mourning.)

Finally, frustrated, his hands fall into his lap. As has become habit, his fingers slip under the hair-tie bracelet on his wrist. Snapping it against his arm. Playing with it. Stupid as it may sound, Hopper feels closer to his little girl when this little tic kicks in: the bracelet’s real, stands to reason that Sara’s real, too. He hasn’t dreamed her up.

And he owes her a goodbye. Hell, he owes her so much more than that. But even if it’s not a world-class speech — he’s never been one for words, not Jim Hopper — as a father, he can at least try for something honest.

**“** I’m sorry, Princess. **”** _For everything. Everything._ **“** But I got to go. Can’t stay here. I can’t. Not without you. **”** _Your old man’s a coward, see, and he has to run the fuck away._ “ Your mom’ll still be around, though. She’ll visit. And me… I won’t forget about you, Sara. Ever. ”

He blinks. Pauses. Hasn’t said much, not that he expected to, but his throat’s already feeling tired and tight. Hop pretends he’s not tearing up. Or if it he is, it’s just the city smog raising hell with his sinuses. That’s all.

**“** I want you to know that I love you. Always will. **”**

It’s not much — just the best he’s got for now. The rest of Hop’s visit is spent in an almost companionable silence, him and his little girl: the one person he should have been able to save, but couldn’t.


End file.
